17 February, 2014

Sometimes Growth Comes from the Wrestling

Thursday morning William came home from basketball practice and in his nonchalant way said, "Oh Mama I'm going to start in the JV game on Saturday."  "Really?" I asked trying to maintain his nonchalant attitude because that's how he likes it--very little hype, no happy dance (did this child really come out of MY body?  Definitely takes after his daddy).  Nonetheless, I knew what a big deal this was to him.  He has worked really hard, always gets some minutes, never as many as he wants, and he has never started.  "How do you know?" I continued.  "Well coach said that anyone who came to practice today is starting. Lots of people didn't show up."

Now this is a total aside rant--it's winter break.  The boys still have three games each and practices are "optional."  But I guess optional practices matter in setting a line-up.  That's a whole other discussion, and honestly, my boy was going to start, so I wasn't initiating it.  (and that decision is also a whole other discussion....)

Back to William--"Who was there?" I asked.  At this point William listed six players--3 were regular starters.  Now I'm not a basketball genius, remember I'm the football fanatic, but I definitely know six people can't start.  Still I asked the question, "How are six of you going to start?"  At this William's face momentarily fell and then his eyes met mine and he said, "I'm going to tell Coach to start N*** over me."  I must admit there was a part of inside of me screaming at myself and silently at William, "NO NO NO!  You've earned the chance to start JV as a freshman.  You never miss practice, and you work hard.  Please don't make me ask him why, please don't make me ask him why, please don't make me ask him why."  Despite the protest my mouth formed the words and I heard myself say, "Why would you do that?  Don't you want to start?"  His eyes met mine again with a fire in them and a look of disbelief. "Of course I want to start," he said, "but Mama I start every freshman game and N*** sometimes never even gets minutes. I'm not trying to be mean, but there's a chance he will never start a basketball game. This may be his only chance. I'm not great, but I have a chance."

Ya'll I admit it.  I'm competitive; I'm a quietly neurotic sports fanatic mama, and I'm a fierce mama bear about fairness.  I'm also often dumb struck by my second son's gentle and kind spirit.  (again probably from his daddy)  All of these were colliding inside me as though I was the ball inside a pinball machine and I just kept hitting bumpers and wouldn't drop. Finally I said, "If you're sure, but you've also earned this chance."  I definitely didn't want him to regret it--okay I'll admit it; as proud as I was of him, I also wanted him to start. "I think I'll think about it.  I won't see coach until Saturday morning, but I really think it's the right thing to do." and with that William headed to the mindless man-cave--oops I mean the basement to play PS4.

Later that afternoon William came upstairs and said, "I just don't know what to do.  I really want to start.  I think I will have a chance later in my basketball career, but I don't know.  I want N*** to have this moment, but I want it too.  What do you think I should do?"  Man these questions are hard!  I didn't know what to tell him--there was no "right" answer.  "Maybe coach will start both of you and not one of the regular starters who were at practice this morning."  This is where I get emotion from William--when I say something that he clearly thinks is--he'd never say 'stupid' remember he is my sweet boy sometimes called a mama's boy, but he definitely doesn't always think I say the most intelligent things--'clueless' would be his word, "Seriously Mama?  You think coach isn't going to start _____ or _____ or ______?" He had a point.  Finally I just admitted it, "William, I don't know what you should do. It's your choice.  Take some time and think about it."

These conversations continued all day Friday and early Saturday morning.  William was really struggling. Saturday morning he said, "I'm a little worried that if I tell Coach I don't want to start because I want N*** to start he won't play me at all.  He might think I don't care, and that's not true. I do care; I just want N** to well, you know."  "William," I slowly started, "I don't think Coach will think you don't care.  I know he respects you and likes you." (Again the emotional face that said, that's all fine Mama but liking me and letting me play basketball or two different things.) I ignored the face and said, "Why don't you talk to him about it?  Why don't you just tell him what you're thinking?"  "I don't know Mama, this isn't Upward basketball or even middle school basketball.  This is high school, and it's just different.  And honestly, there's a part of me that wants to say nothing because I do want to start.  Is that bad?"  I could see the struggle going on inside my child and I wanted to fix it.  I wanted to give him a definitive answer of what was right but the truth is there was no right, there was no wrong, there was no good, there was no bad.  There was just a choice.  "Bubbie," (I've let it out, sometimes that's what I call him...) "It's not bad to want to start, and truthfully you don't have to do anything.  Truthfully you don't even know what Coach is planning.  This is your choice to say something or not and there's not a right or wrong."  He didn't look relieved or even reassured but he said, "I'll keep thinking about it."  An hour or so later as Boss was taking him to the gym I tentatively asked, "What are you going to do?"  "Mama, I still don't know."  I said a silent prayer for him and he was off.

Chris, Caroline and I piled into the car camera in hand to get pictures--especially pictures of him starting if that's what was going to happen.  We had no idea--I admit there was a part of me that really wanted him to talk to the coach and a part of me that really wanted him to just take his chance and start.  As we neared the gym the tension was mounting and the phone rang; Chris answered--it was SK; she'd been in an accident.  Once we knew she wasn't hurt I was so irritated--now one of us would have to go and not even see the beginning of the game.  Chris said, "I'll go."  (Remember he's the one Sweet William takes after) but I replied, "No, I get to see him start every freshman game.  They're too early for you to ever get there.  Just take pictures."  Caroline piped up from the back, "I'll be in charge of that."  I dropped them and headed back to the accident.  As SK and I were waiting for the police I got a text from Caroline, "He started.  N*** didn't."

Finishing up the accident report--a whole other story--I headed back to the gym.  As I got there they were down by a lot in the second quarter.  "He played the whole first quarter--got some good rebounds.  Really did well.  Hasn't gotten back in."  I tried to read his body language, his facial expressions, what had he decided to do?  He did get in for a few more minutes in the fourth quarter and N*** got in the last minute.  After the game and the post game talk William found us (we had a whole other game to sit through--this is our life).  "Did you talk to the coach?" I hesitantly asked.  "Yes ma'm," my overly talkative boy answered.  "What did you say?" I hesitantly pressed. "I told him exactly what you said to say.  I was conflicted but I wanted N** to have a chance to start."  Knowing N** didn't start, I had to keep asking.  "What did he say?" He said, "N*** can start in the next freshman game."  And with that he was off to sit with his team and watch his brother and the varsity team.

Checking in as a starter

Warming Up


Starters being introduced



Starting--I may need some therapy for missing it!

14 February, 2014

My Advice--That No One Requested

Two days ago my sister put this on facebook: "Being iced in makes you think of the small things. After hours of singing and dancing to Pandora with Everett in the kitchen, I've realized he's growing up too quickly, and I'll miss these slow, uneventful days more than anything else."  (My nephew is almost 4 months old.)  For the first time ever, reading those words did not bring me to tears and begging Chris for just one more baby--that's not to say I wouldn't take one more!  (or two--)  This time, however,  I realized that while I do miss those days, those days helped create these days, and they're pretty great.

I loved being at home with the children.  I loved the slow, uneventful days with nowhere particular to be.  But to say I loved every minute of it--I'm a priest; I can't lie.  There were days, many days,  that were just, well, LOOOONG!  People would tell me, "enjoy these days they go by so quickly", and I would think, "Are you kidding me?  Please let some of these days go by!"  I clearly remember one morning as I stood in front of the kitchen window (my neighbors saw way more than they should have through that kitchen window--can I hear an "Amen" Art and Ramona?) nursing Caroline, William on my other hip, Christopher pulling on my robe sash, and Sarah Katherine saying, "No only Mommy can pour my milk" as Chris was trying to pour her milk and leave for work at the same time.   "I'll get it," I said, "Just go."  "I hate leaving when it's like this," Chris genuinely replied.  His compassion was more than I could bear--"At least you get to leave! Make a run for it! Go fast!"  And we both laughed as he leaned over the sticky hands and heads of the children to plant a kiss on my cheek desperately trying to keep them from touching his semi-clean clothes.  So yes, as much as I enjoyed those days, I must admit there were days I wished the time would go by more quickly. Now I realize they went by far too quickly.  But the words of advice (that neither Carson nor anyone else has asked for but I'm giving nonetheless) are yes, enjoy these moments, they go by too quickly, but also know that these moments will turn into other moments and those too will be great moments.  Just that afternoon after reading her post, I experienced one of those connected moments.

We always took the children to sporting events (shocking isn't it?); we would hold their hands as they gingerly stepped up and down the bleachers.  Wednesday night after his basketball game, I saw Boss walk over and take the hand of a girl as she semi-steadily climbed down the bleachers.  And they walked off... (I tried not to cringe)

The memories began flooding and the connections being made...

When Boss was 2, 3, and 4 not a day went by that his teachers didn't have to peel him off me screaming and begging me not to leave him.  (Those days were brutal for me--many days spent crying in the parking lot begging Chris to let me pull him out and keep him home.)  But each of those days as they would pry his little fingers from around my body, I would lean down,  kiss his head, say I love you and confidently (at least I tried to pretend I was confident) walk out the door.  These days as he leaves he leans down, kisses my head, says he loves me and confidently (I hope) walks out the door. (It takes every bit of my will power not to grab hold of him so tightly that he has to pry my fingers off him--instead I smile, say I love you" and watch him leave.)

The endless knock knock and other jokes that Caroline told (that were far from funny and made absolutely no sense) but I listened and I laughed at them all the same (because she wouldn't stop until I did) and now she is one of the funniest people I know.

The times we took them to restaurants and felt like we'd been through a wrestling match, (and Chris ALWAYS said, "We're never doing this again", but we did.) and now we love to both go out to restaurants as a family or sit around the dining room table at home--meal times, togetherness, and occasionally manners!

The plays the children would put on (and start over every time one person messed up which was ALOT) and now watching them on stage makes my heart burst and the tears fall.

The number of diapers and band-aids we "wasted" taking care of their babies and stuffed animals (yes even the boys) and now seeing them care for their cousins and God-siblings with the same loving care--let's just say, nothing was wasted.

The number of times SK said, "When I grow up I want to be just like you." and now she says, "Thank you for letting me be me."  Or the times William said, "I want to live with you forever." and now says, "I want to see the world, but I hope you'll always have this house for me to come visit." 


Those Days
And now
So yes, I miss those days; there are times I long for those days; but I see what I didn't then.  Those days and how we chose to live them directly impact these days. I suspect these days will impact the ones to come.  So,enjoy those days and look forward to the future--it's all good!






12 February, 2014

People ARE Created Good--I Believe That No Matter What

Yesterday was a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day (to quote one of my favorite children's authors Judith Viorst).  It didn't start that way, but then I received a phone call....

Let me back up and give the context.  Several days ago I shared some information with a friend.  We had a mutual friend who needed support--the information was shared with good intentions and out of love and concern, but it was repeated.  It was reinterpreted and repeated and repeated and repeated, and so I received a phone call.

The phone call came from a colleague--someone I've met on a few occasions but not someone I know well and certainly not someone who knows me.  He asked me what I'd been saying and to whom.  I racked my brain--I had only discussed this situation and only briefly with two people and NEVER had I said what was being attributed to me.  So I denied it; I told him I don't know why that was being said.  We ended the phone call on seemingly good terms.  I don't know if he believed me, but we hung up cordially.  I put the phone down and my body began to visibly shake. I've been "caught" in situations before where I was wrong (I'm 46; I've been an adolescent girl--of course there have been those situations), and those times were uncomfortable but I took it because, well I was wrong.  This time was different; I was shaken to my core.  Tears sprang to my eyes not only for myself and false accusations but also for my friend who was the person in the situation anyway.  Somehow rumors were being spread that could potentially hurt her more and my name was attached.  I couldn't breathe and I couldn't let it go.

Chris is out of town, in meetings, and hard to get.  I began to pace in my office--I needed to process.  I was hesitant to call anyone; I felt vulnerable and I didn't want to create another situation like the one that just happened.  My anxiety won (and my complete trust in this friend) and so I made the call.  (In total honesty she also was in a meeting so we texted) I told my friend what had happened and how awful I felt.  She listened and finally said, "Katherine, anyone who knows you knows you would never say something like that and further that you would do nothing to hurt this situation or stir anything up.  Let it go."  Here's the problem--"anyone who knows me"--this person doesn't.  That's the problem with technology and the interconnectedness of the world.  People get quoted or misquoted and it spreads far and wide, outside of known circles and into the world. Judgments are made about people with no context, no knowledge and no fact checking.  I suppose that as difficult as the call was for me, I was one of the lucky ones, I had a chance to "clear my name"--but I couldn't let it go.

All afternoon I was distracted; I hurt and the words from the Book of Common Prayer, "forgive me for sins known and unknown, things done and left undone" kept pulsating through my body.  I had to call my colleague back.  One part of my mind kept saying, "let it go--you could stir things up more--let it go."  But my heart was saying, "People don't just attach names with no basis--sins unknown-I need to ask for forgiveness."  With fear and trepidation I called him back.  We talked and together we were able to piece together what had happened.  It did start with me; I had stated a fact but that fact was reinterpreted and passed on.  I asked for forgiveness and it was given.  But I haven't let it go.

What does this say about my theology of the goodness of humanity and what of my theology of caring for others?  I believe completely that we are created in the image of God and we are all created inherently good.  I also know that while I believe that, I have been guilty more times than I'd like to not extend that grace to others.  I have heard things about people who I don't know well and I have believed them; I have passed judgement about situations that I had no business judging.  I haven't made the phone call.  I wonder how the world would be different if we all behaved as though we believed in the goodness of humanity--if we believed in good intentions?  Would we make more phone calls?   I also believe strongly in caring for one another--in extending compassion and love to those who are hurt, lonely, widowed, orphaned, homeless.  Loving like that brings vulnerability; sometimes it requires putting ourselves in situations where we can be misunderstood or criticized.  Sometimes it means allowing others to think the worst of us to care for the other.

I didn't sleep well.  I keep going over this situation and wondering what I could have done differently.  My natural inclination is to shut down--to withdraw from the world.  My natural maladjusted thought process is to believe that this one situation defines my entire being--that I made a mistake and that makes me "bad".  I can believe in the goodness of others but I don't always give myself that same grace.  I don't always give others that grace.  How would we behave if we did believe and acted on the belief in the goodness of others?  Would we forgive more?  Would we judge less?  Make more phone calls, extend more grace, bring more peace?  Would we in our actions allow others to see glimpses of the love and mercy of God--would we and others catch glimpses of the Kingdom of God?

I know as hard as it can and will be I will also continue to reach out and to love.  I will reach out with a thicker shell and a little more thought, but I cannot not love others.  I believe we are all called to extend love and compassion to others even when that may be uncomfortable for us, even when it exposes us to the criticisms of others.  How would the world be different if we all reached out, if we all behaved as though we believed in the goodness of others and their intentions?  How many people would feel God's love through us if we didn't allow our own vulnerabilities and fears to drive our behavior, to paralyze our actions, to prevent us from extending the hand of love and mercy and compassion and grace?  I believe that as hard as it is, as scary as it is, that if we don't reach out in love, evil wins.  And I refuse to be a part of that.  Now to begin forgiving myself...

08 February, 2014

Why I Start Their Cars

I admit it--I probably do too much for my children.  I do all their laundry; I bring them hot chocolate and coffee to their rooms in the morning to wake them up, and I start their cars on cold mornings so they're warm and defrosted when they're ready to leave for school.  All of these things they can and have done.  (SK did her own laundry for over a year until I realized that I only had one year left of getting to do it, so I asked her if I could do it again.)  I've been challenged by some as to why I would do these things (challenged in a friendly fun loving way), but these challenges have definitely had me thinking a lot over the last few days--thinking and trying to put into words why I do what I do.  And to put it bluntly, the answer is, "because no one ever did it for me."  There is nothing that reminds me of a warm and loving home.  There are no traditions or smells to remind me that I always have a place to return where I am loved unconditionally.  (There were some mornings when Daddy started my car as he left for work--and I remember feeling loved and warm and protected as I got in the car. This combination of feelings were rare for me; I don't want them to be for my children.)

Don't get me wrong; I know my mother loved me and loves me and we certainly were well cared for as we were growing up, but we weren't nurtured in the way I wanted to be nurtured.  Our home had stimulating intellectual conversations, good meals and high expectations, but tender nurturing--not so much.  I remember when a friend of mine in high school said that right after she was married she was taking a shower and started to cry because the towels didn't smell like her mother's and it made her miss her mother and the love she showed.  I vividly remember her telling me that, and although I was not yet married--didn't even know Chris then--I thought, "That's how I want my children to be; not sad but to remember our home as one of love, security, and care."  And I realized then that all the words in the world wouldn't create that environment--our deepest needs are satisfied through the actions of others and our memories are triggered through our senses.

Fast forward a few years and I began to create "rituals."  One of these was lotioning up the children with scented baby lotion after baths.  We had a song we sang as I rubbed them each down with lotion. I hoped that in the process of soothing their dry skin my love would also seep into their pores as I carefully massaged their skin, to be remembered and brought out when they most needed it.  Recently Boss told me after he babysat one night that when he smelled the baby lotion he remembered the song and sang it to my nephews.  He also added that he was fairly certain I continued that ritual well after the age appropriate stage--  

So I light a scented candle at the bottom of the stairs every morning so the household wakes up to a nice smelling home; I bring them hot chocolate and coffee to their beds; I search diligently for the right combination of laundry detergent and softener; and I start their cars when it's cold.  (I also decorate SK's lunch bag and always use holiday appropriate napkins--hadn't admitted to that yet; now the cat's out of the bag--or on the bag depending on how I decorate it that day.)  Our mornings aren't perfect (there are even times I go on strike), more times than I like there are cross words spoken and feelings hurt.  When they leave stomping out of the house, slamming doors and barely brushing my cheek with a kiss, even if they don't overtly recognize it then, I hope the warm car in some ways reminds them of my love and that regardless of how cold and difficult the world can be, there is always a warm place to return.  A place where they will be loved and accepted. Truthfully, there are some mornings, I'm so annoyed with them that I have to force myself to do these things but I remind myself that this is about something bigger than they spoke to me unkindly or they didn't pick up their towels AGAIN, this is about unconditional love and building a home where that is the foundation.  I pray that in the years to come they will remember those cross words less and the actions more.  I pray that whenever they get in a warm car, when they smell a familiar candle or drink hot chocolate/coffee they will be enveloped in a feeling of love and care.  I pray that these small acts that I love to do (yep it really is about me) will be reminders that they have a soft place to fall, reminders that they always have a home that is waiting for them--waiting to envelope them in love whenever they need it.  And most importantly I pray that they will pass that love onto others.

Don't know if they're good reasons--but they're mine.